


empty walls, empty eyes

by selinipainter



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, and well this is the product, because dis always gives me way too much emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selinipainter/pseuds/selinipainter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, they will say this of the princess. <i>She screamed for her brother Frerin, her father who was lost in grief, madness and the grandfather long gone. Yet to see them return home from war and yet.</i></p><p>And yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	empty walls, empty eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Sam Tsui's Shadow. Because I suddenly realised how fitting it was for Dis, when I was busy mucking around making a playlist.

Later, they will say this of the princess.  _She screamed for her brother Frerin, her father who was lost in grief, madness and the grandfather long gone. Yet to see them return home from war and yet._

And yet.

 

Thorin never hears this, never hears about Dís' undoing and unravelling. She orders them not to, the slip of a girl, who lived because her mother had burned saving her. The jewel of the line of Durin, her grandmother used to say. Mahal's blessing, others used to whisper in Erebor. She doesn't know these whispers, never learns of them until much later from Frerin. But then, she is not a blessing anymore then, just another mouth to feed. It is not jewels and gems, diamonds and glittering metals that will give them life on the road. All these pretty things are sold one by one, her mother's bridal gifts of hairpins wrought with silver and sapphire, her adad's daggers with jeweled hilts. Pretty things in exchange for meager food and poor lodgings.  To stone, they came from and so stone they become.

She is the rock for him, the pedestal where the crown can rest its head on. Rocks are steady, unwavering, indomitable and she can do this for him. If she flinches when Fili takes up the bow, it is ok. She can't help the dreams, the memories of Frerin's golden head shining in summer as he fletched arrows and her sons will learn from their elders.

It is not that much easier, only just a little when Kili instead becomes archer and trickster, young and whole and  _unafraid_. Because Fili, oh her little sun, he will be his own person. Not Thorin again, not the brother thrust too soon into responsibility, king in all but name.

Thror's death only settles the mantle a little more securely, places a crown in name only on her brother's head. (Thorin's raven crown is lost in Erebor, lost alongside so many other things. The ignorance of hunger, their pride and fat bellied children are some of those things lost, far more unacknowledged than the loss of dusty robes and instruments of their history.)

Fili will be a glorious king, the best of them all. Dís is sure, so sure of this. This is Vili's last gift to her, two sons who will never be touched by madness and magic. The loss of her husband does not undo her, not when she has little ones to feed and a brother to steady. Not when her house, small as it is, is filled with so much.

Some nights she wonders if Erebor will ever feel like home again. 

There's notches on the walls, from Fili's knife throwing. Feathers lie scattered under chairs and tables, effects of Kili's carelessness. There's a lot of Thorin's sketchings, of blades and shields that never become reality.

_You can't rule, not till you understand the value of your people. The worth of their creations and their crafts._

For this, for the promise of glory, gold, she lets her sons go with her brother. There has only ever been one path for Thorin, the same map that Thror and Thrain had been lost on. She hopes her sons can guide him beyond the madness, lead him to his crown and his long deserved throne.

 

("You can't leave me behind Thorin, not again."

"Someone has to stay, guide them back home."

"Not again, please. Nadad, you fought to let me follow to Moria. Why do you forget this?"

Thorin can't tell her how it felt to watch Frerin die, five paces away from him and worlds away. Watch him choke on blood and smile up at him as if it were Thorin in pain. "Tell Dís I am sorry," he whispers, pressing their mother's rune stone into Thorin's palm. The twin to Thorin's and Dís'.

Thorin cannot watch his sister die. He cannot bear the thought of his sister sons bleeding out in her arms and his either. But Fili is his heir and he must go, if only because the pride of their people demands it. Kili's loyalty demands that he be taken along too.

Dis does not want to be left helpless, guarding empty homes. Of course, she can't tell Thorin this either. It would be yet another burden to lay on him, something she will not do.)

 

She cannot lose another to the madness that haunts them. The line of Durin will be unbroken, they will come unto their own. Silver fountains, golden rivers and all. It is nothing less than what they deserve.

The raven arrives, two weeks after Durin's day when she is with Himlis, Gimli trailing them. Hands shaking, glory or gold, this is it. This is the answer.  _Mahal, let it not be gold._

Untying the letter from the raven takes far too long, hands trembling and her heart stuttering. She dismisses Himlis, promises tomorrow they will settle the dispute in the 4th settlement. (It will be a week later that it will come up again, and completely forgotten then.)

It feels like an age later that she reads it. It feels like she laughs and laughs for even longer than an age.

 _Careful what you wish for, Dis,_  mother used to caution her.

Glory, blazing, burning glory. What fucking good was glory when it only immortalised the names of her sons, into the halls. What good was it when it could not save them, could not cradle them as they died in dirt and blood of the battlefield. What good it was when she could not save them?

What good was it when it left her alone, last of her line and last of her family. What good was it. Gold would not bring them back, glory gave them no life. All alone, always waiting and enduring.

They said madness haunted the line of Durin. Madness was only a cause of the true ghost, grief and loss were their spooks.

And Dís had a house full of them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually meant to be a 10 sentence drabble on tumblr which well... grew a little bit more than that. A lot of the background for this drabble is influenced by headcanons and other Hobbit fanfics. Like Thorin taking all the ruling responsibilities even before Thror properly dies. Based on my research, Thorin is said to have become king after Thrain's death, or I guess when he goes missing. But I personally think Thorin was doing a lot of the heavy lifting ever since they were exiled.
> 
> Thrain was not doing much, and Thror well... 
> 
> On Frerin, I like to think he was blond too. If only because it causes me more pain to think, Kili and Fili were a little like Thorin and Frerin, only their hair colour was switched around. I personally think Thorin was a lot like Fili before he was forced to throw aside his childhood for leading his people. Kili is not quite like Frerin, more wild and responsible in turns. Frerin was more grounded, if only because his brother shoulder the burden of his role kinda changed him too. But Frerin remained as careless as ever because that was not something he could quite change, causing him to be rather forgetful of timings and meetings and leading him to be labelled irresponsible.
> 
> I got a lot of feelings about the line of Durin, I am so sorry. Hit me up on [tumblr](http://valkyromanov.tumblr.com/asksubmit) because I need a shoulder to sob on about these idiots.
> 
> Thank you for reading this! And all feedback is appreciated!


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